White Feathers, page 30
Keely stood looking at him for a moment, then sat down with her muddy feet stretched out in front of her, a bedraggled sight with her rat’s-tail hair sticking to her skull and her dress ruined. Owen thought she had never looked more beautiful.
He noticed the hairs standing up on her forearms. ‘Cold? Do you want my jacket again?’
‘No, I want this,’ she replied, reaching for the coat and extracting the brandy flask from an inside pocket. She unscrewed the lid and took a long swig, then passed it to him.
‘You’ll be sorry tomorrow,’ he warned.
‘Then have another drink and be sorry with me.’
He’d already exceeded his limit and knew he was in for a headache in the morning any way, so he accepted the flask. Brandy certainly had a warming effect on the body, if nothing else.
‘Actually, I am quite cold after all,’ Keely said and, scooting over to him, rested her head on his solid shoulder.
Owen looked down at the tracks the rain had sculpted through her hair. She smelled nice, of some sort of floral perfume with a heady, musky undertone, and he wondered whether the deeper scent was her own.
He also wondered what he should do next. He certainly knew what he wanted to do, but every facet of his conscience told him it would be wrong. Keely was the daughter of a family who had shown him nothing but generosity and kindness, she was the sister of a young man he had come to care about very much in France, she was a troubled spirit, and she was very drunk. And so was he. But, oh God, she was tempting, and a certain part of his body was acknowledging this fact in a very embarrassing manner. He hoped she hadn’t noticed, and bent his right knee in an effort to conceal the rigid lump in his trousers.
She put her head up then, and said, ‘My lips are cold too,’ and reached up to kiss him.
Her lips were cold, but only on the surface. Underneath he could feel a soft, warm pulse that matched his own. He sat perfectly still for several seconds, struggling mightily with his principles, but when he felt her cool little hand begin to slide down the front of his shirt towards his groin, his principles found themselves suddenly and resoundingly defeated. In one swift move he had her on her back and was lying half on top of her, his right leg between hers and his pounding erection hard up against her thigh.
He was shocked at the depth of his lust. They were both fully clothed but he could feel every inch of her body, every contour and every curve, and every tiny movement she made. He gazed down at her for a moment and when he saw her lips begin to move in a slow, lazy, inviting smile, he was gone.
She arched her neck to give him unrestricted access to the smooth whiteness of her throat, and grunted in pleasure as he nuzzled and then bit. At the same time he moved his other leg between hers and began to rub himself against the firm mound at the junction of her thighs. She scrabbled with the buttons on his shirt, tearing the bottom two off in her haste. His chest was damp and his nipples erect, but not as erect as hers. Supporting his weight on his elbows now, he caressed the tops of her round breasts, swearing in frustration when he couldn’t get his hands far enough down the front of her dress to touch the enticing flesh there.
He rolled off her and urged breathlessly, ‘Sit up so I can undo it.’
But she beat him to it, reaching behind to unhook the row of fabric-covered buttons that fastened her gown at the back. Halfway down she gave up, tugged the sleeves off her shoulders and slid the top of the dress down to her waist. Underneath she wore a satin and lace bust bodice, and this too she pulled at frantically so she could bare her breasts to him. He sighed as he ran his hands over them, then lowered his lips and kissed the erect nipples until Keely moaned deep within her throat.
It was the last straw for Owen: he reached for the hem of her dress, hauled it up to her hips, yanked off her knickers and climbed on top of her. She was ready, warm and slippery and reaching for him as he guided himself into her. She uttered a single, unladylike grunt as he entered and began to thrust, hard and passionate and utterly out of control. He didn’t feel her fingernails as they raked his back, and he didn’t hear her as she gasped and cried out a name that wasn’t his.
It had taken them hardly any time at all, but as they lay together in the prickly hay, sticky with sweat and giddy with alcohol and spent desire, it occurred to neither of them that their few minutes of wild, reckless passion would bind them to each other for the rest of their lives.
October, 1918
Keely had very reluctantly acknowledged her own pregnancy barely a week before Erin announced hers. The difference was that Keely hadn’t told anyone yet. The entire household was absolutely delighted for Erin and Joseph, and the announcement gave rise to much good-natured teasing among the men about how busy Joseph must have been on his wedding night.
He had in fact been busy, and so had Erin, but not making babies. When the storm had broken, there had been a mad rush to get everyone and everything out of the rapidly disintegrating marquee and into the house. It had turned into a sort of game, with most of the participants — already invigorated by the generous provision of liquid refreshments and then excited by the spectacular weather — dashing between the marquee and the house with armfuls of food and drink, chairs, children and assorted wedding decorations. How they all managed to jam themselves into the house Tamar never knew, but the resulting evening was thoroughly uproarious and memorable, and ‘the night of the storm when Erin and Joseph got married’ became a part of local history.
Those whose transport was not reliable or robust enough to navigate the weather stayed the night at Kenmore, sleeping in various makeshift beds and in assorted stages of semi-undress. Fortunately there was plenty of food left over and Mrs Heath was able to feed all of the impromptu guests the following morning.
Erin and Joseph, who had not been allowed to escape from Kenmore until around one in the morning, had been almost dead on their feet and collapsed as soon as they arrived home, wet and cold because the station truck — which Joseph had now mastered with the help of his new leg — first wouldn’t start, then had leaked copiously during the short trip to their new house. They lay together naked and shivering in their recently purchased marital bed, between equally new and wonderfully crisp cotton sheets, and giggled hysterically about the whole affair. Then they settled, savouring their closeness after the long months spent apart, and fell asleep in each other’s arms within minutes.
The following morning, though, they finally came together as husband and wife, and their lovemaking was as thrilling and as satisfying as it had been almost three years earlier, although this time their surroundings were infinitely more intimate. Erin calculated that it was then, the first morning of their married life together, that their child was conceived.
Telling the family was almost as rewarding as telling Joseph had been. She had suspected for some weeks, but she and Joseph kept the news to themselves until several months had passed, just in case something untoward happened. Nothing did — in spite of Erin’s private fears because of what had happened after the Marquette — and at the beginning of October they made their announcement. Erin was worried that Keely would take the news badly, reminded yet again of her disastrous relationship with Ross McManus and the dreams and plans she’d been forced to abandon, but she seemed genuinely pleased, although Erin had been puzzled by the wry smile on her cousin’s face.
‘Are you all right, about the baby?’ she asked the following day. ‘I was a little worried that the news might upset you.’
Keely, who was stretched out on a chaise on the terrace making the most of the spring sunshine, smiled. ‘I’m absolutely thrilled, for both of you.’ She opened one eye and squinted at Erin. ‘Of course, this means you won’t be able to go back to nursing now.’
Erin nodded regretfully. ‘I know, but perhaps later on.’
Keely laughed and sat up. ‘You really are disappointed, aren’t you? You can’t have everything you want in life, you know!’
‘No, I suppose you’re right,’ Erin replied. ‘But, really, you’re not upset about it?’
‘No, not at all. In fact I’m delighted, because it means the two of them will be able to grow up together, like you and I did.’
Erin frowned. ‘What do you mean, the two of them?’
‘Well, there will be. Two, I mean.’
‘But I’m not having twins.’ Erin’s hand crept to the barely noticeable swell of her stomach. ‘At least, I don’t think I am.’
Keely took a deep breath, let it out and said evenly, ‘No, you’re having one baby and I’m having one baby. And that makes two.’
Erin stared at her, unable to believe her ears. ‘Are you saying you’re pregnant!?’
Keely nodded, quite cheerfully Erin thought, given the circumstances.
‘But, you … I mean, you can’t be! Who …’
‘The ever-popular and thoroughly decent Owen Morgan.’
Erin’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘Oh my God! But, when?’
‘The night of your wedding. We got caught in the hay barn when the storm came, remember?’
‘And you …’
‘Yes. We were both drunk. Just think, all those times with Ross and nothing happened, and now, after just the once with Owen and I’ve fallen.’ She said this with a mildly puzzled note in her voice.
‘Oh Keely. Are you sure?’
‘I’m as sure as you are.’
Then Keely started to cry, great, silent sobs that were wrenched out of her. Her hands slid over the back of her head and she hunched over until she had curled almost into a ball.
Erin moved closer and placed her hand on Keely’s back, patting and smoothing gently but firmly. She began to make the small, reassuring noises she had used to soothe the terribly broken young men in the hospitals over seas.
She let Keely weep for almost ten minutes, until her slowly subsiding sobs indicated she had done enough crying, for now anyway.
‘Have you told him?’
A negative shake of the auburn head.
‘Have you told Aunty Tam?’
Another short, sharp shake.
Erin said, ‘Keely, listen to me.’
She gently pulled Keely’s hands away from her face and lifted her head. Her cousin’s eyes were red, her lips were swollen and dry and there was a long, thin thread of snot on her cheek. Erin used the hem of her dress to wipe Keely’s face, and carefully pushed the damp hair back from her temples.
‘Keely, listen,’ she said again. ‘You have to tell your mother.’
‘She’ll kill me.’
‘No, she won’t. She loves you. And, with all due respect, it’s not as if this sort of thing is completely foreign to her, is it? She knows these things happen.’
‘Well, then, Da will kill me.’
Erin nodded — there was no denying this. ‘Yes, he probably will, so you have to tell Aunty Tam first. And then Owen.’
Keely’s head jerked up in alarm. ‘No! Not him. Why? He’s barely even spoken to me since the night of the wedding!’
Erin realised that relations between the pair of them had in fact deteriorated even further over the last few months. ‘Well, have you talked to him since then?’
‘No. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. I got drunk and I let him make love to me. In fact, I encouraged it. It was my fault. And I just assumed he wouldn’t have much to say to me after that.’
‘Would it have hurt you to at least try talking to him?’
Keely’s eyes filled again as she confessed, ‘Yes, Erin, it might have hurt me very much.’
And it suddenly occurred to Erin that Keely was right — she had had enough disappointment in her life already, and it was understandable that she should try to protect herself from even more.
She took Keely’s hands in her own. ‘Do you want me to come with you when you tell your mother? You have to, you know. You won’t be able to hide it soon.’
‘Yes, I know that.’ Keely looked back at her cousin. ‘Thanks, but I’ll tell her. You’re right, she does love me. I know that too.’
Andrew and Tamar sat in the parlour in brittle silence. They had barely spoken since Keely had broken the news to her mother that morning and she, in turn, had reluctantly informed Andrew. Keely herself was hunched in the corner of the couch opposite, her arms folded over her stomach and her face set in an unreadable expression.
They were waiting for Owen. Outside in the still garden the sun was warm and the hum of bees flitting busily from one flower to the next drifted in through the open doors. Joseph, who had been sent to fetch Owen and was looking as mystified as he no doubt felt, said from the doorway, ‘He’s just taking his boots off. Er, is there anything I can help with?’
Tamar waved her hand. ‘No, thanks, darling. It’s just something we need to talk about, the four of us.’
Joseph looked at her carefully for a moment, then said, ‘Oh, right,’ and disappeared as quickly as he could.
Owen appeared then, in his socks and shirtsleeves, arms and face tanned already. ‘You wanted to talk to me?’ he asked cheerfully.
Andrew said tersely. ‘Yes, we do, Owen. Sit down.’
Owen perched on the opposite end of the couch to Keely, his hands on his knees, and waited expectantly.
There was an increasingly uncomfortable pause, then Andrew said without preamble, ‘Keely has informed us that she is expecting a baby. And that you’re the father.’
Tamar had heard the expression ‘his face drained of blood’, but had never actually witnessed it — until now. Owen had gone a deathly shade of white, and she wondered if he might be about to faint. He sat for a moment in stricken silence, then whipped around to face Keely.
‘My God, why didn’t you tell me!?’ he blurted.
Tamar closed her eyes in relief. At least he wasn’t going to try and deny it.
‘So it’s true?’ Andrew demanded.
Without taking his eyes off Keely, Owen replied, ‘If Keely says so, it must be.’
‘Don’t speak to me like that, young man,’ Andrew snapped, his own face white now, but with anger, not shock. ‘We invited you to stay at Kenmore out of the kindness of our hearts. We wanted to do something for you because of the support you gave Ian in France. How dare you repay us like this!?’
Keely spoke at last, but her voice was dull and without emotion. ‘It was me, Da. You can’t blame him.’
‘What?’
‘I said it was me. I pushed him into it.’
Owen opened his mouth to say something but Andrew got in first, appalled and profoundly embarrassed by this shameless admission from his daughter.
‘I don’t care whose fault it was, Keely, it’s a bloody shambles!’ he barked, his voice rising several notches in angry frustration. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing, the pair of you, eh? What the hell did you think you were doing?’
Sick with worry, and at the end of her own tether from listening to Andrew rant and rave in the privacy of their bedroom for the last two hours, Tamar snapped, ‘Oh Andrew, what do you think they thought they were doing?’
She despaired; what on earth was wrong with her children? First James, then Ian, and now Keely! And because Keely was a woman, her indiscretion would be considered much more shameful than those committed by her brothers: people expected young men to venture far and wide and with occasional careless abandon. Only Joseph had managed to father his and Erin’s child within the boundaries of wedlock. And that, Tamar strongly suspected, was only because they had been on opposite sides of the world for the duration of much of their relationship. She wondered briefly, but guiltily, whether it was her fault, whether somehow such irresponsible behaviour could be passed on through the blood, then dismissed the thought as absurd.
And perhaps, after years and years of being pushed away, repressed and ignored, a similar idea reared up in Andrew’s mind, because, for the first time in the whole of their married life together, he turned on his beloved wife.
‘Shut up, Tamar, for God’s sake! You might think this is normal behaviour, but it bloody well isn’t!’
Tamar recoiled as if he had slapped her across the face.
Andrew slumped, horrified at the cruelty of his own words and regretting them instantly. ‘Oh God, Tamar, I am so sorry. Please, I don’t know what I’m saying.’
He was distraught. Since being informed of Keely’s condition earlier that morning, he had been relentlessly assailed by ghastly visions of his precious only daughter living the rest of her life a lonely, unwed mother, spurned by any men who once might even remotely have been considered suitors, all because of one stupid, thoughtless mistake.
He reached blindly for Tamar’s hand. ‘Please forgive me, my darling, I’m so sorry.’
And Tamar did understand his pain and his need to lash out, because she felt it too, possibly even more, although she had learnt years ago that the pain of one individual was not something that could be measured and compared with that of another. She felt for Keely and, as she took Andrew’s cold hand in her own, she felt for her dear husband, sitting beside her with his grey-streaked head bowed, crumpled and defeated.
In the intimate tableau they presented, Owen saw something that touched him deeply, and it helped him to come to a decision. He stood up, uncomfortably aware of his rough, hand-knitted socks and informally bare forearms, and cleared his throat nervously.
‘With your permission, Mr and Mrs Murdoch, I would like to ask Keely to become my wife.’
Andrew’s head came up then, and Owen averted his gaze to avoid seeing what he suspected might be sudden tears of relief in the old man’s eyes. He looked instead at Tamar, who was smiling at him gently. When she raised her eyebrows a fraction in Keely’s direction, Owen took his cue and turned.
‘Keely, I would be honoured if you would consent to marry me, as soon as possible, providing of course that your mother and father give their blessing. I won’t allow a child of mine to grow up without a father.’
No one said anything for several moments, although all eyes were on Keely.
